


Just Desserts

by RavieSnake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 11:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21298604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavieSnake/pseuds/RavieSnake
Summary: A fanfiction homage to a horror classic.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Just Desserts

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters/concepts from it. I make no money from the writing/publishing of this story.

...

Happy Belated Halloween!

...

**Just Desserts**

**A fanfiction homage to a horror classic.**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione stared out at the sprawling gardens of her home from where she sat in the study.

The autumn sky was grey and leaves blew in great swirls just beyond the ornate panes of ancient stained glass.

The morning matched her emotions it seemed.

Her gaze shifted from the blustery scene outside to the worn leather journal in her lap. She took several deep breaths and then set the book aside before standing.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_If I were to state my expectations of transcribing the events which I will here detail, I’d say I have none, as there is no intention whatsoever for this account ever to be shared with another living being._

_But I find an indescribable need to memorialize that which I have done; an act that the very man who inspired my deeds might say was due to a want to ‘unburthen my soul’._

_The trouble is, I feel no guilt whatsoever._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The ebony hardwood remained silent beneath Hermione’s feet as she moved across the room. Magic long ago applied to prevent the creaking that one would usually expect from such a settled floor insured as much. Hermione was glad for it.

Silence was her friend in this mission.

She looked up at the ceiling as if to see beyond it to where her husband still slept in their room above and willed him to remain there. Her eyes moved from the ceiling to the mantel clock above the empty fireplace.

Half past seven.

She had one hour.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_I suppose I ought to begin my tale with the note that while I’ve amassed more than a few enemies over the course of my life, none have I hated more than the wretch about which my story revolves._

_Not even the Dark Lord, whose name and visage still haunt my incessant nightmares, can compare._

_Complete was and is still my loathing of all that he possessed and, dare I say, didn’t possess. For the man was entirely destitute. He lacked in everything that I believed an import._

_So offensive did I find his poverty, and not for the poverty itself, but for the inability of the man to improve his situation in even the slightest measure and for his outright flaunting of his disregard for how such poverty might reflect on those with which he associated, that I resolved to destroy him._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The faint blue glow from Hermione’s wand tip illuminated the immediate space before her as she crept though the dark, drafty halls of the house. She clasped at her dressing gown against the morning cold as she went.

When she came into the great room she looked about carefully and then went straight to the grand fireplace. A quick spell later and a brilliant fire burned within it.

Hermione closed her eyes at the warmth of it and suppressed the sigh of appreciation for its comfort. She still had quite a ways to journey if her memory served correct. And she was sure it did.

The family crypt was deep and winding.

Her eyes opened again and the trepidation of the thought of venturing into that place reflected within them along with the light of the flames.

But when she focused her gaze to the items just before her on the mantel shelf she steeled her resolve.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_At first it was not my intention to destroy him in a literal sense. It was initially, and since childhood, my desire that he should simply be made to be viewed by all others as I viewed him. He was lesser and wholly unworthy of the fame and accolades to which he could and often would boast._

_The man had, in my observation, zero redeeming qualities and although my beloved on more than one occasion had attempted to persuade me that there was more to him than I supposed, I found no evidence whatsoever to confirm as much._

_In a rather ironic twist, it was in fact my beloved’s involvement with this villain and the repeated attempts at persuading me of his worth that solidified my disdain for him._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It had been a gift, the book set. It was in celebration of their first anniversary and for her husband’s growing interest in Muggle culture that she had given the books that now sat proudly on the shelf: The complete works of Edgar Allen Poe.

At first he had seemed disinterested even disappointed with the books. But upon reading the first volume, he’d become a devoted fan of the author and had since placed the series in its current place of honor for all to see.

Hermione now reached up and ran her fingers down the spine of the first book. Her breath caught as an involuntary shiver ran through her. Her hand stilled briefly before she tugged the book from its place and slowly opened it.

The pages fell open easily to a place where a black ribbon had been inserted for quick reference.

She looked down to read the title of the story that had been the chosen favorite of her husband.

“The Cask of Amontillado”.

Another shiver ran through her. And it had nothing to do with the cold.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_In the early years of our courting, my dearest made clear that this cadger was to be a part of our social lives despite my very vocal and unambiguous disapproval. So great was my love for my future spouse that for years I suffered the presence of the ill-mannered dolt at nearly every event and social occasion of any significance in our lives._

_It was only after my engagement and after several failed, clandestine attempts to ruin my enemy’s ‘good’ name and standing with my beloved and the community that I at long last came to the realization that outright hatred and anger would do me no benefit in my quest for victory over him._

_I would need to be far craftier to exact my revenge and after learning of an old Muggle adage from the very fiend’s father I determined to ‘keep my friends close, and my enemies closer.’_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione swore under her breath as she glanced back from the wall clock to the boot into which she was struggling to stuff her foot. It was nearly eight o’clock. He’d be waking soon and she hadn’t yet made it out of the house.

With a huff, she stomped on the boot and then winced at the loud noise she’d made. Despite there being little chance for anyone to have heard her considering how far she was from the bedrooms, she held still for a moment to listen.

Sure that she was still on her own, she pulled open the rear door, wand and book of short stories still in her other hand and then took off across the property in the direction of the family cemetery.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_It was not difficult to befriend the beast. I endeared myself to him by degrees, slowly, very slowly gaining his trust and luring him into a belief that we were by all accounts ‘best mates’. I maneuvered myself so expertly that not even my dearest one displayed a modicum of suspicion toward my change in behavior._

_I tended our friendship carefully so as not to get too close and risk gaining any type of actual affection for the man, however minuscule a chance of such a thing occurring, and also of not subjecting myself to so much of the man so that I could maintain the ruse without suffering a psychotic break. For surely extended exposure to this brute would be enough to drive even the most fit of mind round the bend!_

_And although I was successful in my deceit, it was not done without extreme difficulty. Having the man stand up at my wedding was almost more than I could bear, and I daresay it was only the earnest appreciation shown to me by my beloved for allowing such an atrocity to happen that gave me solace enough to endure it. But endure I did and did so with the full expectation that I would one day, through the fruits of my struggles, discover a method with which to take him out._

_And it was a year exactly to the day of my wedding that I was presented with the idea, the most brilliant and scheming an idea as ever has been devised, that would spark my imagination into formulating the perfect plan for vengeance. _

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The ornate stone door moved easily under Hermione’s spell and she set it carefully aside the grand mausoleum that she now faced.

She stared at the inside of it for nearly an entire minute before finally stepping forward. The stale air within sent her nose wrinkling but she moved quickly with new resolve upon seeing the crypt entrance on the floor only a few feet away.

It had been quite a few years since she’d last set foot here, but the experience was still as clear in her mind as if it had happened yesterday.

Her eyes sought out the coiled stone snake upon the east wall. She reached out to it and a tap to its head sent the stone slab covering the entrance to the crypt sliding sideways. A blast of cold, damp air escaped the catacombs below with an eerie whoosh and Hermione instinctively shielded her mouth and nose against the ancient smell of death with the crook of her arm.

A swiftly conjured bubble-head charm allowed her to lower her arm and take several large breaths before she approached the hole in the floor and the carved steps that led down into it. The light thud of Hermione’s boots meeting the stone echoed in the tight space as she slowly descended into the dark.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs she flicked her wand for a lumos and stared into the pitch black tunnel ahead.

“Gods help me,” she whispered.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_Now it was common knowledge that my adversary was something of a glutton. So voracious was his appetite that even the smallest mention of eating would send him into a frenzy from which nothing but consuming mass quantities of food could alleviate._

_I had on one occasion observed the swine eat no less than two dozen pumpkin pasties and ten chocolate frogs in one sitting. Another occasion had him ingesting six large Muggle pizzas and a platter of sausages. He was quite insatiable._

_And it was with this knowledge that I commenced my plan._

_My beloved and I had for some years held a grand masque ball on Halloween which anyone who was anyone in the whole of Wizarding Britain attended and the annual affair had grown in such size and popularity that even I as the host knew but half of the attendees personally. It was on this night three years after my marriage that I determined to seize my chance._

_Three hours into the event, my foe had yet to make an appearance, and while I maintained a jovial countenance for the sake of my guests I had grown quite agitated at his absence and subsequent thwarting of my schemes. However, just as I was about to resign myself to the fact that I would need to reschedule my arrangements, my eyes fell upon a most glorious sight._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione shook as she made her way through the seemingly endless dank passages, her warming charms useless against the penetrating chill of the underground complex.

A small ball of light dropped from her wand and she looked back briefly to watch it settle on the dirt floor, the latest in a line of glowing orbs she’d left to guide her way back through the maze.

Turning front again she ventured on, holding up her wand to illuminate each doorway and wall she encountered. She’d seen at least a hundred already.

It had to be after eight thirty by now. Her husband was surely awake or waking.

She feared she might not ever find that which she was seeking.

She feared even more that she would.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_I scarcely can describe the insurmountable joy that swept over me the moment I spotted him across the crowd. It was a feeling with which I was previously entirely unfamiliar given my loathing for him, but it could not be helped as his attire came into view._

_He was adorned in the costume of a jester! How apropos!_

_Difficult was the task of masking my giddiness at his appearance as he likewise spotted me and stumbled forth in my direction. He was very clearly under the influence of drink and this only bolstered my delight._

_I embraced him heartily when he came before me and he laughed with the greeting._

_“Welcome, friend,” I smiled, stepping back yet continuing to pat his shoulder in feigned fondness, “I’d quite begun to worry you wouldn’t make it.”_

_He laughed again. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he slurred before taking a swig from the bottle he had clasped in his freckled paw. He swiped at the residue left on his lips and gazed about through what must have been blurry vision indeed. “Where’s ‘Mione?” he asked._

_I grinned and slipped my arm about his shoulders as I guided us on a trek through the partygoers toward the exit. So raucous were the festivities that nary a soul paid our departure any mind (a reaction, or lack thereof, that I had counted on)._

_“She and I have a surprise for you,” I replied. He hummed in question and I gave his shoulder a playful squeeze. As we proceeded, I reached into my pocket and produced from within a pastry that I offered immediately to my ‘companion’._

_His glazed eyes glittered all the more as he tossed away his bottle without care and then took the small cake from my hand. He paused in his step as he took a bite and groaned in pleasure at the taste._

_“Come,” I said, starting us off once again, “there is more.”_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fear was an emotion with which Hermione was familiar. There had been plenty of it during the war and the years leading up to it. But nothing in her experience prepared her for the feeling that rendered her all but paralyzed upon seeing the image she now faced.

It was a crown, crudely painted upon a narrow brick and mortar wall with the words _‘our king’_ over the top of it.

She had found what she was seeking.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_The fool licked at his fingers after consuming the entirety of the confection before inquiring how many more I had to offer._

_“Much more,” I replied with a laugh. “Come, come, we mustn’t make her wait. She’s gone through such trouble to make them for you.”_

_He hurried along at my nudging and despite having left the warmth of my home and frivolity of the ball he seemed not to notice nor care where we were venturing so long as pastries where to be at the end of our journey._

_The night was cold and my breath materialized in misty puffs as I attempted to distract him further with small, mindless chatter as we walked._

_“How many pastries did you say she’s made?” he asked, ignoring completely my notations about the weather._

_“Several dozen at least,” I supplied. “Treacle and pumpkin, chocolate too…”_

_It was all I could do not to whoop with satisfaction at how well my plan had thus far played out._

_“Where are they?” he inquired, at last looking about at the surrounding gardens that lay between my home and our destination._

_“Not much farther,” I assured. _

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco woke with a start and blinked up at his bedroom ceiling before turning to find his wife’s side of the bed empty and cold. He sat up, looked about, grabbed his wand from the night stand and then swung his legs over the side of the bed to rise.

He summed his dressing gown and donned it as he walked to the window. He squinted at the small marble building on the horizon line of his property and grasped at the sill as his breath caught in his throat.

A crack echoed as he apparated at once to his study.

Rushing to the bookcase, his eyes scanned rapidly over the spines until they fell on the empty space.

He swallowed and then whirled about, searching the surfaces of his study until he saw it sitting on the side table beside his wife’s favorite reading chair.

His journal.

Draco snatched it up and turned on the spot to apparate again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_“In here?” he asked stupidly when I stepped into the mausoleum._

_I nodded and he frowned in disappointment as he looked about._

_“But Hermione’s not here. Where are her treats?”_

_“Of course she’s not here,” I laughed, patting his back in reassurance. “’Tis Halloween night! You know how theatrical she likes to be. She’s set a wonderful scene for our celebration below.”_

_And with that I opened the secret entrance to the catacombs where the remains of generations of my ancestors now rested._

_Surprise mingled with astonishment and confusion on his face at the appearance of the recess and undoubtedly at the prospect of descending into such as the fog of his inebriation lifted slightly._

_‘There are sweets down there?” he asked disquietly._

_I at this time brought forth yet another tasty morsel from within my robe pocket and held it up._

_“There are indeed. And wine. Follow me.”_

_He heeded my instruction easily, new pastry in hand._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

After taking a moment to calm herself, she set her hand tentatively against the wall and closed her eyes as she felt for the presence of magic.

There was none. The wall had been constructed by hand and in Muggle fashion. This assumption was confirmed when she looked at the base of the wall to see the long ago discarded trowel and a small pile of extra bricks.

“You surely did it by the book, didn’t you,” she said in dreaded awe.

She took a step back and pointed her wand at the center of the wall.

“Bombarda!”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_“What the bloody hell is that stench, Malfoy?” he asked, hand over his nose as he followed my navigations._

_“Death,” I replied. “Now come along, please, we are nearly there.”_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

White blond air tousled in the wind as Draco stood just outside the mausoleum and stared in at the open hole in the floor.

The cold seemed to have no effect on him, but his hand clenched around the decade old journal in his grasp.

He stepped inside.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_“Are you mental? I’m not going in there!”_

_We had arrived at the place that I had in the days leading up to the current event chosen and prepared quite thoroughly. It was a small, yet unused tomb set within the deepest passage of my family’s macabre labyrinth and it was at my suggestion that he enter said tomb that he responded so vehemently._

_Despite his protest, my confidence in my plot remained resolute and I set a hand to his shoulder._

_“My friend,” I said in jest, “You don’t want to ruin her surprise, now do you? Surely you do not want to miss out on all of those glorious confections? For what fun are treats if on this night of all nights we do not allow for a few tricks!?”_

_As I worked to persuade him, I ever so gently steered him right into the very room about which he had such obvious and (although I’d not admit it to him) rightly placed misgivings._

_I could see his brow furrow in the eerie light from my wand. “I suppose…” he said in a reluctant hum._

_It was then that I struck. He scarcely had an opportunity to comprehend what had occurred until I was done affixing the Muggle padlock to the chains I’d placed about his middle._

_I stepped back quickly and as the motley fool gawked down at his restraint in an attempt to deduce what was happening I summoned his wand from his pocket._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The trail of lighted orbs flickered under Draco’s bare feet as he went. If the rough ground caused him any discomfort he didn’t show it. His pace was quick and he moved effortlessly through the dark tunnels.

The sound of an explosion suddenly reverberated throughout and Draco halted his steps to brace himself against the nearest wall.

He steadied himself and then began to run.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_He quite suddenly appeared to gain full sobriety as he looked up at me with wide eyes, his pupils large in the low light and filled with terror._

_I shall never forget the look. _

_Beautiful._

_But then just as quickly he let out a laugh. “Tricks, eh, Malfoy? Very funny,” he said, pulling at the chain. “Never took you for such a prankster. Can you take the photo now so we can get out of here and meet Hermione?”_

_I’m quite certain my brow arched high in amusement. “Photo,” I said, rubbing at my chin, “now that is something I had not thought to do. Shame. I would very much have liked to have had a keepsake of this moment. I suppose memories shall have to suffice.”_

_His next laugh sounded nervous. Music to my ears._

_“Ha, we…we will definitely talk about this in the future, I’m sure,” he said._

_It was then that I crouched down and pulled the pail of mortar I’d prepared earlier to my side. _

_“Well, I can’t really see how that will be possible as you’ll be quite deceased,” I replied most casually as I took a brick from the pile I’d placed. “I meant I’d simply visit this moment in the pensieve.”_

_There was a moment of silence and then he let out another nervous laugh, one much louder and more forced than before._

_“Ok, Malfoy,” his voice cracked, “you’ve had your fun. Now let me out.”_

_I merely scooped a bit of mortar onto my trowel and set the first brick._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione waited for the dust and debris to settle and then took a step toward the new opening.

Then another.

When she came to the pile of rubble that had been the wall enclosing the space she held out her lighted wand to illuminate the tomb.

Her bubblehead charm popped as she fell to her knees with a wail.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_The sounds of shouted expletives and rattling chains echoed about me as he struggled with the chamber while I worked. I rather pleasantly laid brick after brick despite the commotion. _

_“Fuck you, Malfoy!” _

_This phrase was directed at me twenty times at least over the course of the construction. However, during the placement of the first seven rows or so of bricks I’d remained entirely silent._

_I confess that despite my eagerness to complete the job it was quite tedious. I began to whistle a jaunty tune to break the monotony._

_This set my captive off and he struggled all the more, kicking and thrashing wildly against his restraints._

_“Why are you doing this!” he wailed._

_I looked up at him and smiled._

_“Because I hate you,” I told him. “I’ve always hated you. Now, kindly shut the fuck up and let me finish.”_

_To my surprise he stilled at once and remained nearly motionless as I continued._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He slowed to a stop after rounding the bend into the final corridor and saw his wife knelt in the pile of broken bricks.

She was crying, her hands on her forehead in anguish.

Draco took one small step in her direction and in doing so kicked a tiny shard of brick. The noise of it sent Hermione's face snapping up and looking in its direction.

She gasped at the sight of her husband.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_It wasn’t until I had only perhaps two rows to go until the completion of my task that he once again stirred._

_His voice was low, little more than a whisper. “Malfoy,” he said, “this joke really has gone on long enough. Hermione must be looking for us. Stop this now so we can get the hell out of here and find her.”_

_I stilled my trowel and shook my head lightly. “Hermione will not be looking for us,” I explained, “she is quite preoccupied this evening. Her parents are in town, you see. Traveled all the way from Australia to join our festivities this year. I thought it high time that they visit and offered to pay their way here for the occasion. I expect she’ll be distracted with them all night.”_

_“You are not a murderer,” was his reply, “I know you, you’re not a killer.” The desperation was sweetly evident in his tone._

_As the top of the wall at this point was level with my face I rose up slightly on my toes and held up my left arm to his view._

_My reply was simply to press my wand tip to my Dark Mark to illuminate it. _

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They stared at one another through the dim light of their wands and the orbs on the floor for a time, neither speaking until Hermione finally looked back at the ghastly figure sprawled within the tomb.

“I’d never given up hope that we’d find him,” she said quietly.

Draco’s eyes darted to the tomb and then back to her. “Why did you read that journal?”

She shook her head. “I was only looking for a new book to read. I didn’t know it was your journal until I’d already read too much.”

There was a space of awkward silence until Hermione spoke again.

She swiped at a tear rolling down her cheek. “You killed him.”

“I did,” he confessed, slowly closing the distance between them. He stood behind his wife to face the scene.

“Have you ever killed anyone else?” she asked.

“No,” he answered truthfully.

She nodded.

“It was smart of you not to use magic,” Hermione conceded with a sniffle, “it ensured the Aurors wouldn’t be able to use a residual trail to find him.”

“My intellect is one of the reasons that you love me,” Draco said.

Hermione nodded again. “It is.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_He awed me then. I can admit it without shame that after all those years of loathing I was finally impressed with something about him._

_For his scream was unlike any I’d ever heard._

_It was strong and loud and much more masculine than I would have imagined. It resonated with such force within the catacombs that I briefly feared it might be heard above ground. The sound indeed chilled me to my bone and yet it did nothing to deter me from my course._

_I swiftly laid the remaining rows of bricks, caring not for the poor quality of my work, as he continued to howl. _

_This part of the story was that which I had anticipated the most. I knew he eventually would scream and it was at length during the phase of my planning that I sat pondering in what fashion I would reply when he did. Would I do as my inspiration had done? Would I scream back at him? _

_No._

_This version would be my own. _

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“What now?” Draco asked after a long stretch of silence.

Hermione slowly pushed herself up to stand. “We can’t leave him here,” she said.

His response was incredulous. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Draco, I’m not prepared to discuss what I’m feeling about this situation in this horrific place. Please, let us just get him out and then we can talk.”

He was quiet a moment and then replied, “Where’s he to be moved then?”

“Molly and Arthur ought to have their son returned to them.”

Draco frowned at that. “Simply hand over his bones to them shall I? Put them in a box and wrap them?”

Hermione frowned right back at him. “Ronald was my best friend, like him or not, and he deserves to be at rest. Properly.”

“Shall I be at rest in Azkaban then?” Draco snapped.

Hermione searched his face a moment as she thought and then shook her head. She looked back at the skeleton where it lay, the jaw open in a silent scream, a remaining shock of red hair near the top of the skull.

“We will move him without magic and secretly place him in the woods behind the Burrow. We’ll stage a scene to make it look like he suffered an accident long ago. I’ll think of a way to get one of the other Weasleys to stumble upon it,” she said.

Draco considered her plan a moment and then acquiesced with a solemn nod.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_I withheld the very last brick and waited some minutes until he exhausted his voice. When I could hear naught but his quiet sobs within, I rose up and sang into the small opening that was left._

_“Weasley cannot save a thing, he cannot block a single ring, that’s why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our king.”_

_His sobs intensified and I repeated the old melody. I sang it thrice and then pushed the final brick into place and stood back to admire my work._

_A mason I am not. However, the wall looked sound enough despite its dismal aesthetic quality and I was confident in its integrity._

_It needed just one thing more. _

_I took from within my inner robe pocket the can of Muggle spray paint I’d purchased specifically for this purpose and proceeded to mark the grave._

_Even in my victory, I could not bring myself to write the name I so abhorred and thus painted there upon the wall the words ‘Our King’ over the picture of a crown._

_Once complete, I stood back and smiled, quite amused at the poetry, nay, the hilarity of the title given the situation. _

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“How do you suggest we start?” Draco inquired.

Hermione thought for a moment and then pointed at her husband’s dressing gown. “Take that off, give it to me,” she ordered.

He rose a brow at her in question but she merely held out her hand for it. Draco huffed but complied and handed both his wand and journal to her before shucking off the robe.

Hermione set his wand and both books now in her possession on the dirt floor and then took the dressing gown. She used her wand to transfigure the fabric into a large bag.

“Put him in in here,” she said.

Draco stepped over the debris to enter the chamber. “Let’s do this quickly then,” he said irritably.

“Oh, no,” she said firmly with a nod toward the bones, “you made this mess, you clean it up.”

Draco made a defeated sounding sigh but didn’t argue as he turned and stepped over the moldy remnants of a jester’s hat to go farther inside.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_I did not linger long at the scene of my crime, but instead, after disposing of my victim’s wand and the empty can of paint in one of the other tombs, made haste to exit the awful place._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“This will take all morning,” Draco griped, looking down at the amount of bones.

Hermione shook her head. “We don’t need the whole thing. In fact it’d probably be suspicious if it were found intact. A dead body in the woods would attract scavengers.”

Draco nodded in agreement as he picked up Ron’s skull and rib cage. He brought them out and dropped them into the makeshift bag Hermione held out.

He immediately went back in and grabbed the pelvis and a femur.

“How much more should I bring out?” he asked coming back out and putting them in the bag.

“Just get a few vertebrae and maybe some hand bones should do,” she said.

As Draco turned to the tomb once more, Hermione carefully set down the bag of bones and picked up her wand. She pointed it at the pile of rubble as she watched her husband squat down to collect the skeleton pieces.

The bricks began to reassemble and levitate under her silent spell and set themselves back into place in the opening.

The sound and flurry of motion of it startled Draco into whipping around to see what was happening. He moved so fast in his lowered position that he lost his balance and fell back on his butt on top of the remaining bones.

“Hermione!” he shouted, his eyes wide in alarm. He scrambled to get back to his feet, but Hermione sent a brick in his direction. It hit him square in the forehead and he tumbled backward again as the wall continued to erect itself.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_Emerging from the depths up into the freshness of the cold autumn air, I experienced what one might call a rebirth._

_Never before and never since have I felt as free and alive as I did in that moment. Decades of hatred melted away at once and I scarcely believed such happiness was possible._

_It was as a new man that I set off to traverse my estate to return to the ball and to my beloved Hermione._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Tears streamed down Hermione’s cheeks as she held her wand steady. The wall had assembled rapidly and was nearly complete. Only two rows remained, but when Draco’s arms came reaching out, Hermione halted her work.

“Hermione! Please!” he begged, his face now pushed to the small opening that was left. “I love you.” He extended out his hands toward her as best he could at the awkward angle.

Hermione lowered her wand and sniffled. “I love you too,” she cried. “And you’ve quite broken my heart.”

Draco’s eyes went wider in panic. “Hermione,” he pleaded.

“You’ll want to backup,” was her only reply as she pointed her wand again and a group of bricks rose up and flew at the opening. Draco shouted in pain as the stones struck him and he fell back inside the tomb.

When only one brick was left to be laid, Hermione put away her wand and took the brick in her hand. She also bent down and picked up both Draco’s journal and the book of Poe’s short stories.

“Hermione, no. No, please, I beg you. I love you. Please!” Draco continued to cry from behind the wall.

She said nothing and shoved both books into the small hole.

“Hermione! Please! I love you! I love you! Hermione! No, no, no, no, no, no! Hermi-“

Hermione stuffed the brick into place.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_When I arrived back at the ball, I found my beautiful wife where I’d last seen her sitting at a table still in deep conversation with her parents. _

_As I approached them they looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back and joined them._

_My dearest asked where I had been as I took a seat beside her._

_“Out enjoying the night’s events,” I said. “I do believe that this has been our finest soiree to date.”_

_She quite agreed and offered me a glass of my favorite amontillado._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione broke Draco’s wand in half, chucked the pieces into the next open chamber and then gently lifted the bag containing Ronald Weasley’s bones and slung it over her shoulder.

“Let’s get you home,” she said, following her line of orbs to leave the catacombs, each light extinguishing as she passed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_And thus my tale does end. _

_And though my soul is light and my conscience clear, I cannot help but wonder at what might have become of my life if not for the works of one brilliant man: Edgar Allan Poe._


End file.
